


Once A Turk....

by Cephy



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Community: kinkfest, Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-01
Updated: 2008-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 21:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cid will probably never get used to coming home and finding Vincent Valentine in his kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once A Turk....

It was still no little bit surreal, coming home after a hard day of bashing away at engine guts to find a capeless and denim-clad Vincent Valentine standing at the sink with a dish towel in his hand. His _flesh_ hand, of course; the towel hadn't been invented that could stand up to the claws on the other one.

Standing in the doorway, it occurred to Cid that he should get on to making Vincent a new hand. The claw had been more than useful while they were fighting monsters across the entire fucking _continent_ but, unsurprisingly enough, was less than ideal for everyday use. And really, how hard could it be to design something that would work? Fucking _Hojo_ had come up with that first one, and while Cid didn't know much about mucking with people's genes he liked to think he knew a bit more about machinery than that crazy bastard. Even with the odd connections under the skin and all the rest, it couldn't be _impossible_.

Silently-- and with that stubborn set to his shoulders-- Vincent set a tea cup in the cupboard and reached for a plate, pinching the edges carefully between claw-tips and balancing most of it against his palm. It wobbled for barely a second before settling but Cid saw it nonetheless, and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. Because how many times did they have to go over it? It wasn't like he _minded_ if the idiot didn't do shit like that, and Vincent damned well knew it. Hell, it wasn't like the dishes ever got put away at _all_ before Vincent came to stay; they dried perfectly well on their own, when left long enough, and if all of his favourites were right there on the counter, well, it was just easy access for when he wanted to use them again.

The plate shifted as Vincent changed his grip, wobbling much more dramatically-- Cid rolled his eyes again and stepped forward. "Here," he said gruffly, reaching. "Give it here, let me do it. Stubborn ass," he couldn't help but add.

And if he perhaps stood a bit nearer than strictly necessary, coming in close behind, well, Vincent didn't seem to be complaining. Cid reached his arms around the other man and took both towel and plate; pressed up chest-to-back as he leaned forward to place the dried dish in the cupboard with a click.

Vincent turned in the circle of arms, eyes quiet and the tiniest of smiles on his face. He didn't look like a Vincent frustrated by a menial task and his own limitations, Cid had seen _that_ face enough times to recognize it. No, he looked more like a Vincent whose day was going _exactly_ as planned, and Cid watched him with narrowing eyes, because if he were a more suspicious sort he might be starting to think that perhaps the sneaky bastard did this sort of thing on _purpose_\--

Vincent leaned forward ever so slightly; his flesh hand reached out and took the towel from Cid's fingers, dropping it to the floor. Cid licked his lips, mouth gone suddenly dry.

Definitely a sneaky bastard, he managed to think a few minutes later. Once a Turk, and all that, he supposed.

... not that a little sneakiness was a bad thing.


End file.
